


The Trouble with Teenagers

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-27 13:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: Sometimes Sherlock and John aren't sweet or adorable. Sometimes they're the stuff of Greg and Mycroft's nightmares, sometimes they're teenagers...





	1. Good Morning

Greg wandered into the kitchen at the cottage a little bit confused. It was half past nine in the morning, and he had just woken up. How? Typically, on their first morning of a stay at the cottage the boys would have woken him up before six with some kind of hijinks. But for some reason that Saturday morning had been blissfully quiet.

“What’s going on?” Greg mumbled, still half asleep, as he stood in the kitchen door, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was still in his boxers but had remembered to put on a t-shirt on the way down.

“Well, not appropriate breakfast attire, apparently.” Mycroft peered over his glasses and put down the paper he was reading.

“It’s a Saturday morning in our family home, this is about as appropriate as it gets love.”

“Maybe for other people,” Mycroft started, “But- “

“We are not other people.” Greg finished for him with a sigh as he wandered over to the coffee, “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He grumbled, and Mycroft folded his newspaper, smacking Greg on the backside with it as he walked past. “Cheeky.” Greg winked, and Mycroft sighed,

“Why don’t you take me seriously when I’m trying to tell you off.”

“Because you’re too pretty to be telling me off.” Greg took Mycroft’s chin in his hand and kissed him before turning back to make himself something to drink.

“Pretty? So, it’s you that Lock’s getting it from. It’s less adorable when you say it.” Mycroft huffed a little petulantly as he opened his paper again,

“Behave.” Greg growled over his shoulder with a furrowed brow.

“Yes dear.” Mycroft responded automatically, blinking a few times when he heard what he’d said, “See, I take it seriously when you tell me off.” He pointed out,

“That’s because you know what’s good for you.” Greg collapsed into the chair next to his husband, coffee in hand. “So, some emergency I should know about?”

“Sorry?” Myroft asked without looking up,

“Paper down, love, I’m talking to you.”

“Yes dear.” Mycroft folded his paper instantly before sighing at himself, Greg smirked.

“You know I’m supposed to hear about cases before those two, if you’ve sent them off on a mission without letting me know- “

“I’ve done no such thing!” Mycroft tried to sound haughty but he could hear the edge of ‘punishment avoidance’ in his own voice.”

“So, what? They just took off on us, charming! I thought we were going to get a few days together- “

“Gregory, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The boys...”

“Are up in their beds.”

Greg coughed as some of his coffee went down the wrong way, “What?!”

“Asleep, the two of them, I checked half an hour ago.”

“It’s after nine!”

“Indeed it is. Good morning, by the way.”

“Sorry love, good morning.” Greg leaned in for a kiss. “Well, this makes a nice change, a few bonus grown up hours. We could all go for a pub lunch- “

“Oh Gregory…”

“Mm?”

“Sherlock’s right, you see, but you do not observe…”

Greg sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, 

“Sorry dear.” Mycroft blushed.

“Go on…”

“If they were both feeling grown up it would be just John still in bed, Sherlock would have been down here at four in the morning performing some horrendous experiment on my best tea cosy.”

“Ah. Well, maybe me and John can watch the football later- “

“If John was feeling grown he would have been up earlier to see why Sherlock was awake.”

“Oh.”

“Quite.”

“So, you mean…”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Noooo.” Greg smacked his forehead on the table dramatically, “Give me the terrible two’s any day just not…”

“Oh, come on dear,” Mycroft rubbed his back sympathetically, “You know this never lasts long. The last case was very taxing for you all, I’m not surprised they’re finding it difficult to age down. It’ll be a day if that.”

“Is that a promise?” Greg peered up from the table.

“Absolutely not.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ll let me leave them to sleep all day?”

“Of course I will, if you stay up all night with them- “

“Absolutely not.”

“I thought not.”

“Am I going to wake them up, or are you going?”

“I think you’ll be going.” Greg straightened up at that and quirked an eyebrow at his husband,

“Oh you do?”

“Yes.” Mycroft picked up his paper again and opened it with a flourish,

“Any why’s that?”

“Because you don’t take me seriously when I tell you off.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “I’ll be down in a minute.” And heaved himself out of his chair.

“There’s a good boy.” Mycroft took a long sip of his tea and Greg smirked as he left the room,

“Cheeky bastard.”

…

Greg stopped off in the ‘grown ups’ bedroom to put on some tracksuit bottoms and stopped to look at himself in the mirror. “God help me, I am too bloody old to deal with two stroppy teenagers.” 

Greg and Myc had a soft spot for each of the boy’s ‘stages’, but there was no doubt that they both found this in-between, teenagery stage the most difficult to deal with. It was probably their rarest form and usually the result of a prolonged stretch of high stress that left them both either unable or unwilling to switch off.

Although from the outside it may seem that a clingy two-year-old needed the most attention, Greg and Mycroft had been at this game long enough to know that wasn’t really the case. When John and Sherlock were like this they needed just as much attention as their two-year-old selves, only they felt completely incapable of accepting it. It was a lot of work. They were a lot of work. But he loved them. So, he puffed out a lung full of air and slapped his cheeks a couple of times, “You’ve got this Lestrade.” And with that he walked out of his bedroom and swung open the door to the boy’s room.

“Wakey wakey!”

“Argh!” the boys groaned in unison, peering out of their duvet cocoons to blink up at their Da stood in the doorway.

“Up and at ‘em boys, breakfast time.” Greg had long ago perfected the half cheery, half threatening tone that it took to get the boys out of their beds.

“Not hungry!” Sherlock moaned.

“Tired!” John also moaned.

“Yes you are and no you’re not.” Greg answered each of them in turn, “Up, come on.” He opened the curtains letting the light in,

“Bastard.” John mumbled.

“You don’t know the half of it lad, up!” Greg yanked the covers off both beds in one swift move. “And your Pa had better not hear you talking that way or he’ll wash your mouth out.” Greg warned.

“Cold.” Sherlock shivered, “Mean.” He gave his best glare.

“Oh, I know, big old meany me. Now, downstairs. Go.” Greg discarded the duvets on the floor, he’d send the boys up to tidy their room later.

Sherlock and John crawled out of bed and started to make their way to the door, they looked adorable in their matching plaid pyjamas, t-shirts and bed head. Mycroft liked to point out that when they were this age they looked like two mini-Greg’s, as they shuffled out of the room Greg smiled to himself, Mycroft was very rarely wrong.

The three of them made their way down the stairs, Greg shepherding the two zombies in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Ah! Good afternoon!” Mycroft chirped sarcastically as he continued to lay the table, putting down a bowl of porridge for each member of the family.

“Mornin.” John mumbled as he slumped into a chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Urgh, porridge!” Sherlock flung back his head and stamped a foot, “I bloody hate porridge!”

“Language!” Mycroft snapped as he straightened up from the table with a glare,

Greg strode into the room just in time to catch the end of Mycroft’s chastisement, he landed a swift smack to the back of Sherlock’s head as he moved to his own chair, “Behave.” Greg sat, “And sit.” He nodded his hair to Sherlock’s vacant seat.

Sherlock sat with a sigh and pushed his bowl away, “Not hungry.”

Greg caught the look very slight flicker of hurt on Mycroft’s face, he hated that look, he had to fix it, “Well, you’re not leaving that seat until you’ve eaten it all.”

Sherlock gaped. Greg could see the brewing rebellion behind his eyes, Sherlock placed both of his palms down on the table and went to push himself up.

“Don’t be daft.” Greg warned with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock didn’t heed his advice and pushed himself half way out of his seat, Greg leaned an arm across the table and pointed a finger at Lock, “Arse in the chair or over the back of it, your choice.” 

Sherlock sat.

Greg straightened up and Mycroft placed a warm hand on the back of Greg’s neck as a silent thank you before sitting down next to him.

“So,” Greg clapped his hands together, trying to raise the general mood of the room “What are we doing today?”

“Sleeping.” John mumbled, his eyes half closed and his mouth half full of porridge. Mycroft thought about telling him off for speaking with his mouth full but thought better of it, at least he was eating without a fight, or more accurately, a strop.

“John,” Mycroft sighed, “If you’re that tired me and your Da will have to rethink your bedtime.”

“That’s not fair!” So, strop not fully avoided then.

“Perfectly fair, and don’t speak with your mouth full.” Mycroft sighed as he sat back with a cup of peppermint tea. If a strop was happening anyway he might as well correct the boy’s table manners. John flung his spoon into the bowl with a clatter and slumped his head into his arms on the table.

“Oi!” Greg snapped with a smack to his thigh to punctuate it.

“I don’t even need a stupid bedtime.” John pouted from his arm pillow.

“Yes you do.” Mycroft corrected him.

“Why?!”

“Because we said so.”

“That’s not even a real reason.” John sighed, exasperated.

“It’s the only reason that matters in this house.” Mycroft quickly turned his attention to his other boy, “Sherlock, if you don’t start eating, it’ll be cold by the time you finish.”

“Don’t care. You can’t make me eat it.” Sherlock mumbled not looking up from the bowl of porridge he was stabbing with his spoon. The room fell eerily quiet, John and Greg silently watching the tiny little battle being fought across the table.

“Sherlock, who am I?”

“…” Sherlock was thrown by the question.

“What’s my name?” Mycroft clarified,

“…Mycroft Holmes.” He answered warily, sure this was a trap.

“Correct. Now think back to your little declaration.” Mycroft sat forward resting his chin on his steepled fingers.

John and Greg watched as Sherlock’s eyes rolled up and he replayed the last few sentences in his head, once he had finished, Sherlock’s eyes dropped down to look at his Pa. Then he started to eat. He may not like porridge, but he certainly never wanted to find out Mycroft’s techniques for ‘making’ him eat it.

“Mm.” Mycroft nodded minutely, basking in his win, before sitting back in his chair and looking over at his husband who was suddenly eating quite quickly himself. A quick glance to John showed the same. Sometimes he forgot how gloriously terrifying he could be. “Now then, I think you were asking what we were going to do today, weren’t you Gregory?”

“Oh yeah, so I was.” Greg mumbled as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He sat back in his chair and nodded his head towards his empty bowl, Mycroft smiled fondly,

“Well done dear.” He leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and Greg beamed at the praise. “Now I think you were saying something about a pub lunch?”

“Really?!” John suddenly piped up, excited at the idea. He also leaned over to tug on Mycroft’s sleeve and pull his attention to his, also, empty bowl.

“Oh,” Mycroft smiled at John, “There’s my good boy, thank-you John.” John smiled despite himself. “And yes really, it was your Da’s suggestion so you can thank him-“

John opened his mouth to say something, but Mycroft held up his hand,

“But, it is completely behaviour dependant so if you boys can’t behave yourselves this morning we won’t be going.”

“That’s not fair!” Sherlock piped up after finishing his last mouthful, sighing as though he had just finished quite the task.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “What is all this about ‘fairness’? When have I ever pretended to be fair, hm?”

“Good point,” Greg chuckled.

“You’re supposed to be fair, isn’t that your ‘job’?”

“The air quotes were hardly necessary dear and frankly that’s a habit I’ll need to break you of. And no, it is not my job to be fair. It is my job to ensure, by hook or by crook, that you behave as fine young men. Fairness does not even come into the equation.”

“Too right.” Greg agreed. “Speaking of which, your room needs a tidy.”

“Only because you messed it up!”

“Don’t be a smartarse, Lock. Just get to it.”

“Ah!” Sherlock flounced out of the room in a whirl of frustrated limbs.

Mycroft and Greg’s eyes fell on John who was quietly dozing on his arms.

“John Hamish?” Mycroft called politely,

“Hm?” John blinked himself awake,

“Arse out of the chair and get your room tidy.” Greg picked up where Mycroft left off.

John took a moment.

“Now!” Greg barked, and John leapt to his feet scurrying out of the room.

Once the kitchen was bereft of teenage nightmares Greg looked over at his husband and pushed his chair back from the table, “Come ‘ere.” He patted his knees and Mycroft tilted his head,

“Oh, alright then.” With that Mycroft delicately lowered himself onto his husband’s lap, letting Greg wrap an arm around him. “I have to say, it is nice when it’s not me you’re barking at.”

“I do not bark!” Greg scoffed.

“Oh yes you do.” Mycroft scoffed back.

“Alright, I suppose sometimes.”

“Mm.” Mycroft sighed leaning into his man.

“But only when you’re being naughty.”

“Gregory!”


	2. Crisis Averted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right you lovely lot,
> 
> The comments for yesterday's first chapter were so bloody lovely and I was already particularly enjoying writing this one but you all made it even more fun! So here's the next one for you, I really hope you enjoy it!

The sound of the boys tidying their bedroom (or tearing it apart) finally died down upstairs and Mycroft picked a book off the bookcase and settled into his armchair to enjoy a hopefully peaceful hour or two. Greg made his way out of the kitchen, drying his wet hands on his jeans,

“John lad?” he leaned over the banister and called up to the boy’s room,

“Yeah?” Came the sound of John’s disembodied voice.

“I’m gunna watch Match of the Day on catch up,” Greg heard Mycroft sigh (they had very different ideas of how to spend a Saturday morning) but ignored it.

“Coming!” There was the sudden rush of thumping that suggested John was on his way.

“Careful on the stairs, John!” Mycroft called from behind his book and Greg settled down on the sofa with the remote. John jumped the last three steps in one and landed in the living room with a bang,

“John Hamish,” Mycroft chastised without looking up,

“Sorry Pa.” John mumbled, a little bit out of breath.

“Tell you what, make me a tea John.” Greg leaned back on the sofa,

“Why can’t you do it?” John whined.

“I can, I just don’t want to. If you make it, you can get yourself a biscuit out of the jar- “John was off like a shot.

“Gregory!” Mycroft scowled over his book,

“What?!”

“He’ll spoil his lunch.”

“He’s a growing boy, it’s just one biscuit.” Greg looked away to find the programme he wanted to watch.

“That’s what you used to say and now my husband has…handles.” Mycroft started reading again.

“Oi!” Mycroft smirked to himself and Greg dropped his voice to a low rumble, “I’ll show you my muscles later when I throw you over my shoulder and make you regret that one.” Greg saw the tops of Mycroft’s ears turn pink and slumped back against the sofa.

“I’m bored!” Sherlock sighed as he loped down the stairs.

“Well, come and watch the television.” Mycroft suggested still not looking up from his book.

“It’s football!” Sherlock whined,

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” Mycroft countered.

“I won’t.” Sherlock pouted.

“Well, read a book then.” Mycroft held his own aloft and finally looked up at the curly haired boy,

“I’ve already read them all.”

“All of the books?” Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“All of the books in the world?”

“Well obviously not.”

“Eh, you can lose the attitude mister.” Greg added from the sofa without taking his eyes from the screen.

“Can I go out for a walk?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, you can, provided you behave yourself.” Mycroft started reading again.

“I’ll manage.” Sherlock mumbled as he moved towards the coat rack.

“Don’t get smart.” Greg stepped in for his husband.

“You’re to stay within the walls, Lock.”

“Argh! That’s not even fun!” Sherlock span back on his heel to glare at Mycroft.

“Well, I’m not sure you’re behaving maturely enough to go out on your own.” Mycroft matched Sherlock’s glare.

“I’ll take John then!”

“Not really a solution to the problem dear, and besides, John is watching the football.”

“Yeah, I’m watching the football.” John chirped as he strode back into the living room, handing Greg his tea.

“That’s my boy.” Greg ruffled John’s hair as he dropped onto the sofa next to him, chomping on a chocolate biscuit.

“Suck up.” Sherlock spat.

“Dickhead.” John spat back.

“John!” Mycroft snapped from the armchair, book now all but forgotten about.

“What?! He is!”

“Right.” Greg yanked John up off the sofa by the arm, “Nose, wall, five minutes.” He pointed to the wall behind him with his thumb.

“Such a dick.” John grumbled, “Ah!” before rubbing the spot on his backside Greg had just smacked and shuffling off to the spot he had pointed to.

“Once more John Hamish and you’ll fetch me a bar of soap.” Mycroft added with deadly promise.

“Ha!” Sherlock gloated

“Sit, Lock.” Mycroft clicked his fingers and pointed to the spot on the floor by his feet.

“Why?! I wanna go out!”

“If you cannot behave properly, you cannot leave my sight. Sit, right here.” Mycroft pointed again, and Sherlock grumbled as he crossed his legs and dropped down onto the spot by Mycroft’s polished shoes.

“Pub lunch doesn’t look likely, eh Myc?”

“Mm, I’m afraid not.”

“Might need to put these two down for a nap the way they’re behaving.”

“My thoughts exactly. Oh, and John, just because I cannot make out the words does not mean that I don’t understand the intent. You’ve had your last warning.” Mycroft called across to the room in response to a mumble from the boy.

There was a loud thud as John kicked the wall. Mycroft’s worried eyes snapped to Greg who held up a calming hand, “I’ve got it.” Greg stood up, football now forgotten too. “Come on, you.” Greg murmured as he lightly took John’s arm and lead him into the kitchen.

Mycroft placed a palm on the top of Sherlock’s head and gently tipped it back, so he was looking up at him, “That’s enough of that for one day, thank you.”

“What?!”

“You know very well what.” Mycroft arched an eyebrow, “No more riling him up or I’ll rile you up.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“I think you did.” Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but Mycroft cut him off, “But if you didn’t, now you’ve had your warning. No more.”

Sherlock grumbled and looked away.

“Do you hear me, Lock?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes sir.”

“Better.”

Greg pulled John through the kitchen stopping to shuffle into his slippers and waiting for John to reluctantly step into his trainers, and out into the garden, once the door was shut behind them John shrugged Greg off and kicked a half-deflated football across the garden with a thud.

“Calm down, junior.” Greg sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and trying to anticipate the level of intervention John was going to need.

“Why is he such a dick?!” John shouted out into the wilderness.

“John- “

“He does it on purpose!” he spat as he spun back to look at Greg.

“I know.” 

“Why does he have to wind me up?”

“Because he’s your brother. It’s the rules lad.”

“I hate him!”

“Hey!” Greg pointed a finger, “No you don’t. You love ‘im. Don’t say you hate him.”

John kicked a foot against the muddy ground and looked as though he was either about to cry or burst in to flames, Greg wasn’t sure which but held out an arm.

“Come ‘ere. Come on.” John didn’t move but Greg took a few steps towards him and pulled John’s head to his chest, “Tough couple of weeks, eh?” Greg wrapped his arms around John, joining his hands behind his back and squeezing tight, just in case John did suddenly explode (not actually into flames of course but rocks had gone through windows in the past).

“Yeah.” John mumbled through Greg’s t-shirt.

“I know junior…Tell you what, if you and your brother can behave for a couple of hours, when we’re at the pub I’ll buy you a shandy.” 

“Really?” John didn’t try to look up but at least sounded interested in the idea.

“If you’re good, and you don’t tell your Pa.”

“Okay.” John half chuckled and Greg instantly released the tight hold on him, crisis temporarily averted.

“No more kicking walls eh?” Greg rubbed the younger man’s back as he spoke.

“Kay.”

“Good lad. Oh,” Greg’s hand moved his back to instead smack John on the back of the head, “And watch that mouth of yours.” John finally looked up from Greg’s chest with a half smirk. “It’s not big, and it’s not clever.” Greg grumbled turning back the house and taking John with him

“It’s a bit clever.” John answered back.

“Bloody cheek!” Greg lightly shoved John in the direction of the door,

“See!” John turned back to face him, grin spread across his face.

“I’m a grown up, my boy, I can swear whenever I want.”

“So can I,” John mumbled, not sure if he was pushing his luck too far, but quite enjoying being a bit cheeky.

“No you bloody can’t, not if you don’t want your mouth to taste of lavender soap for the rest of your life!”

“Might be worth it.” John smirked as he turned back to shuffle through the door,

“Alright then, cheeky sod, do you have any sentimental attachment to your backside at all?”

John giggled as he kicked off his shoes and scuttled back into the living room out of Greg’s swinging range,

“That’s what I thought, lippy boy!” Greg called after him as he went to turn on the kettle.

For the next couple of hours, the four of them lounged (well three of them lounged, Mycroft sat with commendable posture in his arm chair) in the living room, the television rumbling away. John and Greg on the sofa, Sherlock still on the floor by Mycroft with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He had found that he quite liked the closeness to his Pa that this spot afforded him. John and Sherlock had each been sent into the kitchen a couple of times for hot drinks and the odd biscuit but mostly they had just stewed, enjoying everyone’s quiet company. Eventually Greg caught sight of the clock and decided it was time for them all to get up of their arses.

“Right.” He clapped his hands once, “Jackets and shoes lads.”

“We can go?!” John suddenly piped up.

“I should think so, what d’you think, Pa?”

“Well they’ve been very well behaved for a couple of hours and I’d quite like to show them off, so yes, jackets and shoes please. Oh, and a shirt, Gregory, for goodness sake.”

“What’s wrong with this?” Greg looked down at his slightly stained (but freshly washed, thank you very much!) t-shirt.

“Now.”

“Yes dear.” Greg pushed himself off the sofa and made his way up the stairs, three at a time and Mycroft went to referee the putting on of coats as John and Sherlock started a tussle by the coat rack.

A couple of minutes later Mycroft, Sherlock and John were stood, dressed in their coats, by the front door waiting for Greg to join them. Mycroft couldn’t help but try to adjust the boy’s lapels, so they were looking as smart as possible. He didn’t want the goldfish at the pub to think he let his boy’s dress like ‘hoodlums’. Greg skipped down the stairs adjusting the waist on his suit trousers as he went, once he was in the living room Mycroft caught a glimpse of the man out of the corner of his eye and span away from the boys to stare at him.

“Oh…wow.” He just about managed to say.

“Ha! Pa fancies Da!” John chirped, and Sherlock dissolved onto his brother’s shoulder in a fit of giggles. “Oh Gregory!” John mimicked, fanning himself with his hand, “Ow!” Greg landed a heavy smack to John’s arse.

“Behave.” Greg chuckled, “And why do you sound so surprised!” Greg turned on Mycroft,

“How am I the one in trouble?” Mycroft protested but Greg saw the slight smirk he gave him.

“Right, coats on, you’re all looking lovely, let’s go,” Greg opened the door and Sherlock shot out, marching off into the distance looking ever the teen rebel. John dashed after him,

“Lock wait up!” Sherlock span back and watched John catching up, once he had the two of them started to stroll off together.

“Don’t run off!” Mycroft called, there was no response from the boys but he was fairly certain they knew better than to run off anywhere and Greg grabbed his coat from the rack, pulling the door shut behind them.

“Oh, this is nice.” Greg sighed as he wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist once he was suitably dressed for the weather, and they started to follow the two younger men out and onto the path that lead to the nearby village.

“Mm.”

“Like me in a dress shirt, don’t ya.” Greg leaned for a bite of Mycroft’s ear lobe.

“Not in front of the children, Gregory!” Mycroft slapped Greg away with a giggle. They walked along for a while keeping an eye of the boys in the distance and avoiding any particularly muddy puddles along the way.

“Think they’ll behave themselves?” Greg wondered aloud.

“I’m not sure. What do you think?”

“I reckon it’ll go one of two ways. Either they’ll be on their very best behaviour and we’ll have a lovely family lunch together or they’ll burn the pub to the ground.”

“Does it have to be one or the other?”

“What do you think with our boys?” Greg scoffed.


	3. Great Ideas and All That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is for MezzaMorta who somehow managed to save a shitty day for me yesterday with her writing. I'm not as good as that hero though, so this is the best I've got to offer...nothing miraculous about it I'm afraid. 
> 
> I hope you all like it, but I'll be honest it doesn't feel that good, this one. So I'm sorry for that.
> 
> Oh and for anyone who may be worrying, this is definitely not the last of the series. X

John and Sherlock had successfully put a bit of space between themselves and their surrogate fathers and made their way into the pub. John was the one that strode purposefully up to the bar, Sherlock shuffled behind him, looking around to see if there were any village dwellers that Mycroft knew.

“Two pints please mate.” John tried his best to sound casual about it and when the barman went away to the till he held his hand out to Sherlock who rushed to hand over the money he had taken from Greg’s wallet earlier in the day.

“There you go.” John handed over the money and ushered Sherlock forwards to take his glass. 

They were both trying their hardest to look ‘grown up’, forgetting that to the rest of the world they were two adult men.

“Where do we go?” John asked in-between sips, knowing that Sherlock will have scoped out the best spot the second they walked through the door.

“Round there, there’s a pillar thingy we can watch the door from.” Sherlock nodded his head in the direction of the pillar and looked down at the pint glass in his hand, he was holding it with two hands and looked as though he had never held a liquid receptacle before. 

“Good shout.” John nodded before noticing Sherlock’s hold on the glass, “Hold it like a normal person, Lock,” he scoffed.

“I am a normal person!” Sherlock protested as he shuffled behind his big brother to their look out spot. 

“Is this a good idea?”

“Prob’ly not.” John smirked, eyeing Sherlock up as he took a long sip, “Lock, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.” He said sincerely.

“No, I want to!” Sherlock took a long sip himself and John smiled, offering up his glass,

“Cheers,”

“Cheers.” Sherlock grinned and took another sip.

“How long d’yo reckon we’ve got?”

“Mm, they weren’t that far behind us, but they’ve probably stopped somewhere for a snog.”

“Urgh.”

“I know.” Sherlocks eyes went wide when he saw that John had already finished his pint,

John smirked, “I’m going to get another,” 

“Me too!” Sherlock drank up and held his empty glass aloft for John to inspect,

“Well done!” John took the glass off him, “Wait here and shout if they come in.” Sherlock nodded and turned all of his attention onto the door while John approached the bar. Sherlock had felt almost dizzy with nerves ever since John had suggested a secret drink on their walk to the pub. But now, for some reason, he didn’t feel all that nervous at all. Actually, he was enjoying himself.

“Here.” John was back with a pint for each of them.

“Beer’s not actually all that bad, is it?”

“I told you you’d like it one day.”

“You’re sure they won’t be able to tell?”

“Nah, I’m a really good drinker and you’re Sherlock Holmes, we’ll be fine. Besides, Da said he’d get me a shandy anyway so he’s basically saying it’s fine for us to have a drink.”

“Oh, okay.” Sherlock nodded, understanding. “Oh, oh!” Sherlock suddenly pointed to the red and grey heads that were walking past the window,

“Give that here,” John took the glass off of Sherlock and put it down on the bar with his own. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him across the room to a table by the window, yanking him down into a seat. “Wipe your mouth.” Sherlock wiped his lips on the sleeve of his coat and both men folded their hands on the table, trying to look as casual as possible.

The door of the pub creaked open and the room was suddenly engulfed in the energy of Greg Lestrade, “There they are!” he beamed as he walked over to the table. Yeah, he’d definitely got some on the way over. “Look Myc, I told you they’d be good as gold.” Greg ruffled John’s hair,

“Yes, yes you did, what can I get everybody?”

“No, no love you sit down this is my round.” Greg wandered over to the bar and Mycroft sat down at the table. The second he was seated he eyed both boys warily, he was sure something was off.

“Have you had a look at the menu?”

“N-not yet.” John stumbled over the words but was still fairly sure he was holding it together.

“Really? I thought you were both ‘starving’.”

“Not that hungry now.” Sherlock mumbled.

“Here we go.” Greg brought a tray of drinks over to the table and sat down, “For you my love,” he placed a glass of white wine in front of Mycroft, took his own pint from the tray before proudly passing over two half-pint shandy glasses to the boys.

“Gregory is that- “

“Oh, come on, it’s just shandy and they’ve been on their best behaviour most of the morning.”

“Exactly, most of the morning.” Mycroft grumbled looking at the two sheepish boys as they took their glasses.

“Thanks Da.” John smiled.

“Yeh, fanks.” Sherlock mumbled a little messily, “Ow!” and John kicked him under the table. 

“Everything alright, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, looking between the two of them, his voice just starting to show an edge or danger.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” John smiled sweetly at Mycroft.

“Shtubbed my toe.” Sherlock mumbled.

“Mm.” Mycroft pursed his lips.

“So,” Greg clapped, “Lunch, what are we all having?” Greg handed the laminated menus around the table.

“Fish an chips, with mushy peas!” John said straight away, grinning up at Greg when he saw that it was on the menu.

“Ah good choice, John,” Greg smiled back.

“Fishy ships for me too.” Sherlock nodded blinking slowly, both John and Mycroft’s heads snapped to look at him, but this went unnoticed by Greg.

“You know what, you’ve convinced me, I think I’ll have fish and chips an all. Myc?” Greg finally looked up from the menu to see the look of fury on his husband’s face. “Myc?”

“I don’t think we’ll be having lunch after all.” Mycroft spoke low and clipped, taking the menus from each of the three men and putting them back into the wooden stand.

“What?!”

Mycroft pointed a finger at the boys, “Stay.” He glared before standing and pulling his husband up with him and over to the bar to talk out of ear shot of the boys.

“Quick, Lock, finish your drink before they take it away.” John quickly downed his own drink,

“No!” Sherlock gripped his glass hard,

“Go on then.” John nodded trying to look past Sherlock and see what was going on. He couldn’t lip read like Sherlock could but whatever was being said didn’t bode well for the boys. When John looked back at Sherlock he saw his glass empty, “Eh,” he ruffled Sherlock’s hair as Greg so often did his own, “You’re not my little brother for nothing.” Sherlock smiled back before leaning his head against his hand.

John looked up at the cause of the shadow that was suddenly cast over them. Greg and Mycroft were looming over the table and now it wasn’t just Mycroft that looked hideously pissed off. Greg opened his mouth to say something but before he could, Mycroft had noticed the empty glasses on the table.

“Oh, you are in a world of trouble now boys.” Greg’s eyes followed Mycroft’s,

“Right, outside, now.” Greg tugged at Sherlock’s sleeve trying to get him to stand up,

“No!” 

“Oh, come on Da, it was just a laugh.” John offered as a defence.

“Yeh, laff!” Sherlock joined in, slamming a fist against the table and knocking his glass to floor with a smash in the process.

“Everything alright gents?” The barman asked, Mycroft span around, his most civilised smile painted on his face,

“Yes, thank you, sorry about these two. I will, of course, pay for the glass.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ve got a little brother as well.” The man behind the bar chuckled.

“Ah,” Mycroft smiled fondly, “So you understand, we’ll just be going.”

“Come back anytime.”

“We will, thank you.” Mycroft nodded and turned around to see Greg still trying and failing to pull Sherlock from his seat. He brushed a hand over his husbands, “I’ve got this dear.” Greg took a step back and Mycroft leaned down, “Boys, unless you want me to bend you over my knee right here, right now, you will get up and walk out of the door.”

Usually the boys would look at each other to wordlessly communicate on a matter such as this but given Mycroft’s tone they both stood up, wobbled for a moment and stumbled towards the door.

Greg shut the door behind them and saw Mycroft standing, phone to his ear on the pavement, “Grab them, will you,” Mycroft nodded to the two boys who were wandering a few feet away. Greg grabbed each of them by the scruff of the neck and held onto them as Mycroft spoke into the phone, “Yes, quite, thank you.” He hung up. “A car, I don’t want to try and walk that one,” he nodded at Sherlock, “Home.” Sherlock was swaying where he stood, and John looked pissed off that his fun had been brought to such an abrupt end.

“Didn’t have to embarrass us in there, Pa.” John kicked at the pavement,

“Oi! - “Greg started but Mycroft stopped him with a hand,

“I could have done much worse, John Hamish Watson, just you wait until I get you home.” Mycroft’s eyes moved to Sherlock and he sighed, “Come here, Lock.” He held out his arms and Greg released Sherlock’s collar allowing him to stumble over to his Pa, he leaned against him and let Mycroft wrap his arms around him. “Alcohol does not agree with you, does it my dear?” Sherlock shook his head and Mycroft patted his back sympathetically. 

“Light weight.” John grumbled before hissing at the sting induced by a hard smack to the backside from Greg, “Not outside, Da!”

“Just. You. Wait.” Greg was trying his absolute hardest not to give John the hiding of a life time there on the pavement. When John huffed and tried to pull away Greg released his hold on his collar and switched it for a hold on his ear.

“Da!” Greg didn’t respond, just pulled his fist lower so John was bent at an uncomfortable angle.

Almost on que a black sedan car pulled along the small street and stopped in front of them. Mycroft waited for the front window to roll down and looked through the window, nodding when he recognised the driver and opening the back door. “Slide in, Lock.” Sherlock just about managed to do as he was told, and Mycroft climbed in, buckling Sherlock’s belt and sitting down on the backwards facing seat opposite.

“In.” Greg grunted, almost shoving John into the car, John sheepishly took the seat next to Mycroft and Greg slammed the door before sitting down next to a sleepy looking Sherlock.

They rode back the house in silence, the drive only taking a few minutes. John had his seatbelt off the second he heard the gravel under the car’s tyres, but Greg reached forward and grabbed his ankle. John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“A strop will only make matters worse for you lad, I’m warning you.”

“I think I’d better get this one up into bed.” Mycroft nodded at Sherlock.

“Yeah, I’ll deal with this one.” Greg tugged on John’s ankle,

“Not fair!”

“I’ll show you fair, boy.” Greg glared. 

“All I hear is fair, fair, fair,” Mycroft mumbled to himself as he climbed out of the car and managed to manoeuvre out Sherlock after him, pulling him into the house.

“Right, when I let you go, you’re to go straight to your Pa’s study, understand?”

“It’s locked.”

“Well I’ve got a key, smart arse. Wait by the door, understand?”

“Yes,” John sighed, “I understand.”

“Good.” Greg let go of John’s ankle and followed him out of the car, watching as he walked through the front door. Greg went to the driver and gave him a tip for saving the day before making his way to Mycroft’s office.

John was stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall by the door to the study. Greg pulled out his keys and went to unlock the door.

“I’m so bloody disappointed in you junior.” John sighed and rolled his eyes, “Oh,” Greg chuckled darkly, “You’ll regret that my boy, in.” He swung open the door and John shuffled through, jumping when Greg swung the door shut with a bang behind them. “Right,” Greg walked around John and stood leaning against the desk, “I’ll keep the lecture short, mostly because I want to skip to the part where I make you sorry- “

John gulped.

“You do not have permission to drink alcohol when you’re this age. You know that. You are not old enough. As a special treat for being so grown up earlier I was going to let you and your brother have a drink when I was there to supervise you. You knew that, and you still took the bloody piss!” Greg slammed his hand down on the table and John flinched. Greg sighed and ran a hand over his face, calming himself down. “Sorry, lad, I didn’t mean to shout.” John just looked down at his feet. “You knew you were breaking the rules today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” John squeaked but didn’t look up.

“Okay,” Greg sighed standing up and walking around the desk, pushing Mycroft’s chair back and sitting down, “So lecture over.” He patted his hands against his things, “Come here.”

John finally looked up, a little bit confused. “Too old.” He mumbled, and Greg sighed,

“No, you’re not, if you’re not too old to act up the way you did today, you are certainly not too old for my knee. Now come here.”

“But Da!” John whined, stamping his foot lightly against the floor. He never usually went over Greg’s knee when he was this age. The belt he could handle but getting his bum smacked over his Da’s knee was just too embarrassing.

“Do you need to stand in the corner first?”

“No.” John pouted and shook his head.

“Okay, then come here, if I have to count it’ll just make things worse for you.” John finally made his way over to Greg, making a little whining sound as he did. “Right, trousers and pants down.”

“No!”

“John, if you keep mucking about I’ll just spank you again later when the alcohol has worn off.” John pouted again but did as he was told and lay over Greg’s lap.

By the time he was finished Greg wasn’t surprise that John was crying, his arse looked pretty painful and Greg was used to seeing either John or Sherlock’s backside red from his palm. He helped John up off his lap, helped him right his clothes (well, pull his pants up, jeans would have been too horrendous at that point) and lead him by the hand out into the kitchen.

“Let’s get you a glass of water.”

“Kay.”

Greg handed John a glass and rummaged in the washing basket, pulling out a pair of his own grey sweatpants.

“Here, they’ll be more comfortable.”

“Thanks, Da.” John wiped his nose on the back of his hand and stepped into the trousers. Being Greg’s, they were far too big, so Greg pulled the drawstring waist tight and tied it off.

“They’ll do.” He ruffled John’s hair again giving him a warm smile. Greg wiped a couple of stray tears from John’s cheek, “I think I’d better settle you upstairs for a nap too, eh?”

“No, Da.” John pouted and shook his head, looking for sympathy, Greg chuckled.

“You know, it doesn’t make you a little kid if you need a nap.”

“Does.”

“I usually need one after a couple of pints.” John blushed, and Greg wrapped an arm around him, “Tell you what, I’ll put on a movie and you can curl up for a rest on the sofa with me.”

“Really?” John looked up,

“Yeah, come on.” Greg took John’s hand and walked him into the living room where he made a show of settling on the sofa, covering John in a blanket once he was curled up next to him. “No more trouble today, eh lad? I don’t think your bum could take it.”

John nodded sadly, “Hurts.”

“Yep, that one’s going to sting for a while I’m afraid.” Greg nodded not sounded remotely sorry about it.

“Da?”

“Yes John?”

“Next time I’m older can we go to the pub again?”

“I should think so, if you behave yourself.”

“Just me and you?”

“If you’d like. Now close your eyes for a little while.”

“Yes Da.”


	4. They're so adorable when they're drunk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very tiny little addition to the story. Mostly just because you're all so bloody wonderful! 
> 
>  
> 
> (Pst... for you, Foreverbroken)

Mycroft pulled Sherlock behind him through the door, he wanted to get him out of the way before Storm John landed.

“Right Lock, upstairs with you, hold onto the bannister.” He shuffled Sherlock in front of him and tried to get him to hold on,

“Noh a baby!” Sherlock protested.

“No, you’re not, you’re drunk is what you are- “Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock giggled, “Yeh.” And Mycroft responded with a sharp smack to his backside, “Ow, Pa!”

“Up those stairs, you’re in enough trouble as it is.”

They were half way up the stairs when the front door swung open and they heard the sound of John stomping through the house, Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to getting Sherlock up the stairs without a tumble. Just as Sherlock stepped off the stairs and onto the landing above Greg strode through the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Sherlock startled, and Mycroft steadied him,

“Into your room dear.”

“Kay Pa.” Sherlock mumbled as he shuffled towards his bedroom and away from the top of the stairs, Mycroft sighed in relief and once they were inside the boy’s room he quietly shut the door (not wanting to through off Greg’s rhythm downstairs). 

“Right then, naughty boy, let’s get you into some pyjamas. Sit on the bed please.” Mycroft gave Sherlock a little push in the right direction and he staggered over, collapsing onto the bed and making hard work of pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Pa?” Sherlock called in an exaggerated stage whisper, making Mycroft chuckle as he rummaged through the chest of drawers.

“Yes Sherlock?”

“Is John gettin’ spanked?”

“Mm, I should think so,” he mumbled without looking over to the whisperer, “Ah.” He smiled as he found a suitable set of pyjamas and tucked a pull up under them before walking back over to Sherlock.

“Wasn’t tha norty, not really.” Sherlock grumbled as Mycroft crouched down and started taking off his shoes,

“’We were not,’” Mycroft automatically corrected the younger man, “And yes you were, you were both incredibly naughty and I’ll tell you now, William,” Mycroft put Sherlock’s shoes aside and pointed a finger at him, “The very second you have sobered up you’ll be getting a hiding as well.”

“Ohhh.” Sherlock pouted.

“Yes, oh, arms up.” Sherlock sleepily did as he was told, and Mycroft continued to undress and re-dress him. 

As Mycroft took another piece of clothing off the small pile Sherlock caught sight of the pull up and started to push Mycroft away, “No! No! Too old! No!” He protested unaware that his brother was unsuccessfully trying the same tact downstairs.

“Settle down, young man.” Mycroft managed to take a hold of each of Sherlock’s hands to stop his arms from wind milling.

“No, noh fair!” Sherlock continued to struggle, and Mycroft sighed,

“I’ll tell you, I’ve had just about enough of that word!” Mycroft released one of Lock’s hands just long enough to land a loud smack to the boy’s thigh. “I said settle!” Mycroft knew full well he was losing his composure, but he really had had just about enough nonsense for one day. Teenagers were hard work. Drunk teenagers were -as his husband would say- a fucking nightmare.

Sherlock did settle. Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was just too sleepy from the alcohol or if his subconscious adult was telling him to ‘stand the fuck down right now he’s at the end of his tether’, knowing that an ‘end of his tether’ Mycroft could come up with the worst punishments. It didn’t matter why he settled, but he did.

“Good. Now then, you’re going to wear a pull up because you’ve had too much to drink and you’re likely to have an accident. It’s not because you’re a child, even though you’re acting like one right now. You’re wearing it, no arguments. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yeh.” Sherlock’s head ducked,

“Good.” Mycroft continued to dress the drunk, sleepy Sherlock. “Right then, Lock, time for a nap.”

“Yeh.” Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft smiled to himself.

It took a bit of effort to get Sherlock to stand unaided for as long as it took Mycroft to turn down the bed for him, but finally he collapsed onto the mattress and his Pa tucked the covers around him.

Mycroft was moving to put Sherlock’s clothes away and leave him to it when he heard a whining noise and turned to see Sherlock’s arms outstretched towards him.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Stay?”

“Mm,” Mycroft frowned, “Full sentences please Lock, you’re a big boy.”

“Will you stay wif me please?” Mycroft sighed with a chuckle, Sherlock saying please would never stop being adorable.

“Yes, of course. Move over,” Sherlock shuffled over, and Mycroft toed off his shoes and lay down next to him, Sherlock instantly curled up with his head under Mycroft’s chin.

“Sorry, Pa.”

“Yes, just couldn’t stay out of trouble today, hm?”

“Fort it would be fun.”

“Well, I’ll ask you if you’re having fun when I’m smacking your bottom later.” Sherlock groaned.

“Do you haff to?”

“What do you think my response will be to that, cheeky boy?”

“Ashions av consesmences.” Sherlock tried to parrot Mycroft but failed miserably. 

“Quite.” Mycroft chuckled.

“John’s idea.” Sherlock mumbled before letting out an undignified squeal when Mycroft brought down his hand hard on his backside.

“Honestly, Lock, you were the same when we were young. ‘It’s Myc’s fault!’, ‘It was Mycroft’s idea!’. You are responsible for your own decisions, Sherlock Holmes. No one has been able to make your mind up for you, not even when you were a baby. Too smart for your own good.” Sherlock had recovered from the smack in time to hear the end of the quiet little lecture, he turned and rested his chin on Mycroft’s chest, so he could peer into his eyes.

“I’m the shmart one.” Mycroft raised his hand high and Sherlock winced before the smack had even landed. “Worth it.”

“I’ll give you worth it in a minute.” Mycroft grumbled before wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist, “Come here.” and pulling him back up to cuddle with him. 

“I do love you.” Sherlock mumbled sounding half asleep, his head bobbing as Mycroft laughed.

“That’s the alcohol talking, dear.”

“No, just me.” Mycroft smiled fondly and kissed Sherlock’s curls.

“Well thank you, sweet boy. I love you very much too. But don’t think that this sweetness will buy your way out of punishment.”

“I know.” Sherlock sighed.

“Good. Are your eyes closed?”

“Sort of.”

“Well close them properly.”

“Yes Pa.”

“Good boy.”

“You’ll stay?”

“Of course.”


End file.
